Polite Fiction
by O'Rinn Woodson
Summary: "Jasper's fallen off the wagon and stayed off it; but Bella's not going to let a little thing like attempted murder get in the way of a good friendship."
1. Chapter 1

They meet every last Thursday of the month as faithfully as religious observers. For Bella it's a day planned weeks in advance. She will lay out an outfit and change it a dozen times, before inevitably settling on the tried and true t-shirt and blue jeans. She longs for Rosalie's beauty and Alice's style, even Jessica's saucy confidence, but, at the same time, there's a defiant little part of her that doesn't _want _to change, even for the better.

It's the difference between admiration without envy, and just plain resentment at all the things she can't and won't have.

She's still human. Still aging.

At this point she's seriously beginning to wonder if her father isn't correct about Edward, after all. Why the delays? Besides the small matter of her death - and really, as a vampire that ought to be old hat by now - what possible reason could Edward have for withholding the one thing she has ever truly asked of him?

She's finding less and less excuses for him. And the old doubts come back with each successive denial, the ones she'd hoped to bury firmly in Phoenix. This is exactly why she doesn't ask people for things. They use it against you. They hold the request over your head. Because they've got you now, see, they know what you want. And knowing what someone wants is the first step to power.

Bella's tried to be good. She's tried to act like someone worthy of a lifetime with Edward. (Too much to ask, but she'd almost believed Edward wanted that kind of inevitability in a relationship). And she'd thought she was making progress, too, until the last time she'd met with him. Then he'd made the little quip that "by simply asking to become a vampire, Bella, tells me you are not really capable of understanding what it means yet."

Which, what? Does he mean to say he doesn't plan on turning her until she's given up and doesn't want it anymore? She is never going to stop wanting it. Eternal life, godlike beauty. Think of all the books she'd get to read! She has always lamented the fact that there are more books in the world than time allowed for her to read them. But such a fate can be avoided.

Or so she'd believed. Edward's proven himself perfectly capable of lying to her. She'd smoothed the offense by thinking he was doing it out of altruism; he didn't want to hurt her. She still believed this was his main motivation, but now she was considering the possibility that it wasn't his _only _one.

Because, let's face it, he liked having the control. Bella liked him having it, too. She didn't mind him driving, or suggesting the restaurant, or showing concern for her wellbeing and whereabouts. It was rather nice to be attended to. Usually she's the one who has to do the picking up after.

Even if it does make her feel like a child sometimes. Edward is old-fashioned and was probably a bit of a prude even when he was turned. His outdated notions of purity also fail to impress her. But it's probably unfair to expect him to change in a few months what he's been doing for a century.

It's just that, well, Bella had rather thought the decision of whether or not to become an immortal creature of the night would be more left up to her than it is. On a logical level, she understands his arguments. On a visceral, fingers-in-the-ground, tear-your-hair kind of way, his reasoning falls flat. She _wants _him, selfishly, and damn the consequences. Doesn't he want her with the same urgency?

Doesn't matter. All that's going to change. Jasper doesn't know it yet, but he's going to be the instrument through which Bella fulfills just such an objective.

Bella checks her watch for a second time. Her clothes are all laid out. Not her comfortable American Eagle hoodie for tonight, oh no. Using Alice as her reference, she's gone for something a little more uptown. She's never met Maria, of course, but by Jasper's own account she was beautiful.

_Of course. _All vampires are beautiful, but Bella's impression was that Jasper held Maria in a class by herself. And little wonder, after the glorious destruction she created. Jasper himself.

The one thing Bella has going for her is that she's got dark hair, too. That indicates a preference. Granted, Jasper seems to go in more for that unattainable godlike sort of girl, but beggars can't be choosers. Bella's hardly able to believe she still intends to go through with this, but if she's being honest it's not something she really does believe. Any second now that common sense everyone's been insisting she has somewhere will make itself known.

Fearful of becoming as flighty as her mother, she tries to commit to any decision she makes. To see it through to the bitter end. Though at times this works to her favor - such as good grades, or managing to leave everything in one not-quite-home and pick up right where she left off in another - often it works to her detriment. Charlie accuses her of stubbornness. He should know.

Tonight's the night everything changes. She's fortunate to be able to contemplate the milestone beforehand. Not everybody is aware of when they approach a fork in their road.

Does Alice see this coming? Bella hopes not. Even though Alice and Jasper are estranged since his defection from the family, she wouldn't scruple to contact him if she thought such an occurrence could be stopped. Or, worse, she might tell Edward.

This is a fear that's been following her around for weeks. In a haphazard attempt to work around it, she's been vacillating between actually going through with it and spending another quiet evening at home. But then, even committed, she probably would have done all this handwringing, anyway.

It's all planned out. She won't go as Bella, she won't dress like her or walk like her. She's been practicing in Jessica's homecoming heels for weeks and she can almost make it down the stairs now without looking like an inexperienced tightrope walker. She's got a dress picked out from La Boutique in Portland that doesn't make her want to throw a potato sack over her body.

She scrutinizes herself in the mirror. Nothing comparable to what Jasper could have and has had, but by Bella-standards it's got to at least make the grade. And Jasper's standards have somewhat lowered since leaving Forks.

She gives a shaky huff. The cozy green light of her digital clock ticks the eight hour to a nine. Almost time.

Going barefoot, her shoes in one hand, she creeps down the stairs. A glance into the living room reveals Charlie snoring lightly on the couch, a James Michener novel open on his chest. The old man didn't make it upstairs again.

In a sudden burst of feeling, Bella risks everything and pads over to him. She's never really thought of her father as an actual _person_, one with desires and dreams of his own, one who makes mistakes. He's a dad, he's not supposed to expand beyond the boundaries of that role. When he failed at that, letting Renee go, letting _Bella _go with her, she's never forgiven him.

But after hurting him so badly last year by running out, knowing instinctively where to stick the knife and _seeing _the damage she'd done, that horrible slap-in-the-face look, she's eased up on him. Perhaps it is so difficult for them to connect because they are so similar, like two negative-force magnets trying to come together.

Even middle-aged he's a good-looking man. She's seen the admiring looks he gets around town. It's kind of sweet how oblivious he is to it, but it also makes her sad. He shouldn't keep punishing himself. It is almost as if, having been unable to hold Renee's attention (another thing they have in common) he has decided that that's proof enough of his unsuitability for anyone. Including his daughter.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. It's the closest she's ever come to saying 'I love you,' and to her, it's the same. Hopefully the others will understand some day. But if they don't Bella won't blame them for hating her.

If everything goes according to the blueprints tacked out in her mind, or she's even partially successful - or even not at all and the whole things goes tits up - nothing will be as it was after this evening. Bella's heart must be aging ten years after all the self-inflicted panics she's been giving it the past few days. There's still time to change her mind. All she has to do, in Jasper's own words, is not show up.

Jasper's fallen off the wagon and stayed off it; but Bella's not going to let a little thing like attempted murder get in the way of a good friendship. They have a meeting tonight, as they have had for the past five. This will be their sixth Thursday. Jasper left on a Wednesday, and she called him - when he still had a cell phone - that night. She said she'd be there.

Now Jasper has cut himself off from all contact with his old life - with _life _- and Bella's got more people in hers to love than ever. And it's all very exhausting.

Reaching out, her hand hovers over Charlie's head, a benediction, a threat. You are so vulnerable in your sleep. She will be strong. If she's strong she can make it so that Charlie won't have to worry about her anymore. Or Edward. It's got to get better, after. Maybe they can't see it yet, but she can, and she'll make it so that everyone else does, too.

Turning from her father she hurries across the door and into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Nervous that Jasper will display an untimely promptness, Bella puts the pedal to the metal once she's cleared Charlie's house. Hey, what's the good of being a cop's daughter if she can't abuse the privilege?

Edward would be appalled. She smiles at the thought. He's so easily scandalized whenever she says or does anything the least bit outside the established guidelines of what he perceives as "normal Bella." When really the secret is that no such creature exists.

She used to be such a nice girl. Never spoke much - she was bad at taking compliments and little better at giving them - had her nose buried in a book even at lunch; generally had the right answers in class but wouldn't volunteer the information unless forced to it; she helped her mother out without asking and dutifully phoned her father once a week. Those conversations were relatively painless, as Charlie had seemed about as enthusiastic as she did with the appointments.

Predictable as a B-movie script, Bella can perceive her life as it would have been if she'd remained in Arizona. Series of mediocre days, gradual distancing from her father more unreachable than a few states; her mother's scatterbrained tendencies finally taking their toll and Bella leaving for college, probably for good, but to nowhere in particular. Here the images get a little muddy. She's never really contemplated a career for herself. Just getting through the day has felt like achievement enough, anything else an overly ambitious pipedream.

Then she came to Forks and everything changed. People were practically falling over themselves to be friends with her. It seems a waste, when there are plenty of people who would be happy to receive such positive attention. Mostly Bella just wishes to return to the wall where she can observe the world uninhibited. Safer that way, for her and for them.

Jasper always meets her on the other side of the city limits sign. His reasons for doing so remain unexplained, though if Bella were to guess it has less to do with avoiding the Cullens or the wolves and more with Jasper's need for structure. His Forks life is over, to his way of thinking, therefore there's no reason for him to enter that world again, physically or otherwise. It's Bella who displays flippant disregard for the niceties of psychological hyperbole.

She slows as her headlights flash against the sign, population 3,175, minus one girl and exiled Confederate soldier vamp. Searching for him amidst the trees and fog steaming up from the road (Good Lord, even the ground rains here), she mentally crosses her fingers and pushes the top of her dress a little lower. Delusions of grandeur.

She gives an undignified shriek when a sharp knuckle-rap comes from the passenger side of her truck.

Jasper's teeth are the first thing she notes. His eyes the second.

"You!" she gasps-scolds. Reaching over to manually roll down the window, Jasper ignores the invitation to open the door and leans against it instead.

"Sorry, goose," he says, not sounding the least bit. "Just trying to keep you on your toes. Don't know what suspicious characters you might find around here."

Unamused, she gives him the full force of her glare. The mock anger helps level her head, even as her heart starts to race at double-time. Oh, who is she kidding? Did she really think she could go through with this, that anyone as beautiful and hostilely defensive as Jasper Whitlock-Hale would look twice at a girl like her? The best she can hope for is that he'll get a good laugh out of it.

But maybe that's worth the humiliation she's prepared to subject herself to. Jasper has always struck Bella as a person in desperate need of some good old-fashioned silliness.

Bella hadn't noticed it until his absence, how precisely conscious Alice's manic cheerfulness was. Bella labors under no misconceptions that at least part, indeed most, of Alice's pleasure with him was genuine, that if nothing else Jasper would have buoyed her up. There's no denying that Alice was happy with Jasper, and Jasper with her, or had been for a time. By the same hand Bella can't ignore the feeling that Alice put in a great deal of emotional work to keep Jasper on the straight and narrow.

All of it to waste. Jasper stands before her with red eyes and a disturbing, cat-flinch readiness that only seems to occur in vampires who partake of human blood. He must feed before coming to her. He must, or else how could he stand it?

That means Bella is complicit in no less than six murders, counting tonight. The actual participation in Jasper's degradation is not what disturbs her, rather the knowledge that it does not disturb her nearly enough.

She must take too long in a response because Jasper's smile begins to slip. Immediately, Bella straightens from her slouch over the wheel and smiles. Jeez, she can't blame Alice for getting a little crazy on him. Bella doesn't require preternatural powers of empathy to sense the gnawing sense of isolation Jasper's enveloped in. That it's a self-purgation of his own making does not make it less hurtful to witness.

"How are you?" she asks, rather more primly than she intended as her arms automatically fold across her chest. She's suddenly hyperaware of the chill in the air and it occurs to her that her dress is possibly cut too low in the bosom. Why didn't she bring a shawl or a scarf or something?

"Fine," Jasper says, still watching her too closely. "You want to come out of there?"

She breathes in deeply through her nose and holds it. Wet pine and cedar, rain, a notion of blood. But of course that last is in her head only. Jasper is pristine.

"Or do you want to drive tonight?" Jaspers asks, theorizing wrongly on her hesitation.

"No," Bella says. She climbs out of her truck. There is no possible way for her to do so with any chance of elegance and she concentrates on simply not flashing the squirrels.

Jasper is by her side before her feet touch the ground. She looks up to find his red eyes appraising her openly, and she flushes.

"Look at you all dolled up," he says. "Got a hot date?"

Gratified at his teasing, if a little disappointed that he hasn't collapsed in dazed amazement at the ravishing figure she makes, she says, "Of course! He's my eleven o'clock. So don't keep me up too late."

"Should I be flattered that I'm first? Or do you save the best for last?" Jasper's smile is back, smooth and sweet like poison in her mouth; his eyes stay the same. Analytical and uninvolved, like a banker counting coins.

Bella is not adept when it comes to this sort of casual friendly flirting. People engage in it without pausing for breath between the word 'suck' and asking for last night's homework assignment, while Bella struggles to identify an authentic expression of interest and what is merely a bored plea for entertainment. She discounts the first as wishful thinking and hopes like hell it's not the latter. Jasper has been, as best as she can tell, nothing but honest with her.

Reassured by this fact, the growing knot of wires in her stomach loosen enough for her to breathe.

Gathering the hem of her dress, she makes her arms into an arc so that the bottom half of organza flares out like an upside-down daffodil. "Don't you like it?" she says. She means to sound saucy and uncaring, but it comes out a little too eager for approval.

"Sure." Jasper slides his hands into his pockets and takes a step back, cocking his head at an angle as though he were looking at a particularly eccentric piece of art.

Before Bella can get her hopes up, he says, "Don't rightly know if it's your color, though."

Despite her pessimism, in face of Jasper's summary brutalization of her hopes, she deflates. Her preparedness for anything less than unequivocal acceptance proves lacking. "Well, it's all they had," she says desperately.

He smiles indulgently at her. A gentlemen would never call a lady out on a lie, that smile says.

"I'm afraid I'm not fit to be seen with you." His hands sweep out to indicate his own person.

Bella can't see what he's talking about. Granted, of all the Cullen men, Jasper would appear to be the least diligent in perusing _GQ_ magazine, but he's not without his own self-conscious style. He likes ties and proper button-ups, usually more than one layer. They suit him as they never would Emmett, who likes to romp and tussle Bella's hair as though she were a beloved if underfoot little sister. Bella cannot imagine Jasper tussling anyone's hair. He is far too tightlipped and straight-backed for that. Such irreverence would seem almost an offense to his dignity.

In a way Jasper reminds Bella of Edward. They both have a length between their years that seems far longer than that of the others, with the exception of Carlisle. _The one who looks like he's in pain. _That was how Jess had characterized him, accurate in the way girls of her social standing in the hierarchy always seem to be. They must have a better view from the top.

She couldn't have known quite how literal that statement was. But neither had Bella, until recently. She still doesn't comprehend the full extremity of it, but at least now she's _aware _of her ignorance, of how much she doesn't know.

"You look as good as you always do," Bella offers.

"A backwards compliment if ever there was," Jasper says.

"I meant -" Bella says.

Jasper gives a dry huff, his version of a laugh. "You make it too easy for me, Bella."

Her brow knits. Heat suffuses her cheeks, sensing she's become a source of unintentional entertainment.

"Oh, don't," Jasper says, clapping his hands softly between them in an almost shamanistic manner of banishing her thoughts. "You are just very young to me sometimes, that's all I meant."

No, no! That is the last impression she wants to leave him with, especially tonight. Unable to conceal her impatience, she says with a mighty chest heave, "I am so _sick _of hearing that."

"Well, stop hanging out with old men and maybe you won't anymore."

In appraisal of how ridiculous she is - standing out on a backwoods road in Podunk, USA, in a borrowed homecoming queen's dress, talking to a vampire - she has to fight to stifle a hysterical fit of giggles. Salvaging the situation with self-parody, she clenches her hands into fists and stamps one foot on the ground like a toddler. "I won't and you can't make me!"

Though Jasper's expression does not change, Bella experiences a tangible sense of warmth unfurl in her belly and to her limbs, like sneaking a sip of brown liquor from her dad's hidey cabinet in the garage. Why do forbidden things always taste better? Since Adam and Eve, no other grade will do.

"I fear that is only too true." With exaggerated southern dandy charm, Jasper offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

She looks into his eyes. He always asks, always leaves her an exit. She never takes it.


	3. Chapter 3

Bella wrinkles her nose as they approach Jasper's car. "Jasper," she says in exasperation, "when _are _you going to get a better set of wheels?"

"Eh?"

Jasper stares at her with his hand holding the passenger side door open. She gestures towards the unfortunate creation of metal and rubber somebody had the nerve to finance into production.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's, well," Bella searches for a more diplomatic expression of her opinion. "It's not exactly… _hip_, is it?" she says, thinking of Edward's Volvo and Rosalie's red BMW.

Jasper's beige 1989 Honda is almost an offense to the name of vampire.

"Oh." Jasper makes a dramatic bow like an actor on stage and gestures her into the car. "Sorry it's not flashy enough for you, kid. Trying to keep a low profile these days."

She settles into the seat, that new car smell all around her. No candy wrappers in the cup holders, splashed coffee stains or even dirt tracks despite the Washington weather. It's like a ghost driving it.

"Are you worried?" she asks when Jasper's started the car up.

"'Bout what?" he says, too neutral to be convincing. He's paying undue interest to the road for a creature who could probably drive with his eyes closed.

"I don't know." Bella shrugs. "About people finding out you're back in town?"

"People," Jasper says, "or Edward?"

"People," Bella says firmly.

"Not really, no."

Jasper's a more defensive driver than Edward and he turns on his signal as they near a crossroads. Bella barely sways as the staid little soccer mom car hums down the road.

"That's good." Bella falls silent and stares out the window. Then: "Because," she erupts, "it would be understandable if you _were_. You know, worried."

Jasper's teeth are very white in moonlight. "Thanks for the permission. I'm not, though."

"Because you could take them all out," Bella says.

"Oh, I dunno about that. I'd never want to meet Carlisle in a dark alley."

Bella picks at a fraying edge of her purse. It doesn't match her dress. She sighs in defeat and folds it over her stomach.

"Anywhere special?" Jasper asks, just like he always does.

_Here we go._ Bella says, "I don't want to be around people tonight. Take me somewhere different."

Usually Jasper takes her out to a restaurant. He won't eat, of course, but will order a plate for appearances. Bella will take it home in a box for Charlie. Jasper _will _drink, but she's never seen him drunk. _Can _a vampire become intoxicated? She would ask but, if all goes well tonight, she won't have to. She can experience it all for herself.

Jasper is quiet for a moment, then he says, "I saw a park a few miles back. It was lit up real grand and smelled like cake, I think somebody had a wedding earlier today."

"Oh?"

Weddings make her think of Edward, and that's the last thing she wants right now. Sometimes she feels as though she only has so many filing cabinets inside her head and that pictures of Edward are more and more taking up that space, causing disarray. Pages are being lost, whole manuscripts lost to history. Where is Bella? Not in one of the scripts; she's just a metal container, waiting to be filled up.

Jasper skirts a sideways glance at her. "Is that not acceptable? If you'd like something a little more civilized -"

"Hm? Oh, no!" Bella starts. "I mean, yes. Yes, that's fine. I like being outside more than I used to. Being outside reminds me of -"

_Jacob. _Another forbidden word. She's really batting zeroes tonight.

In an effort to prevent Jasper from asking inconvenient questions, Bella runs her hands up her arms and says, "I'm so pale, everybody always asks me if I'm sick or something. I should probably go outside more than I do. It's just so cold here all the time."

"Not gonna do much to rectify that with the company you are currently keeping," Jasper says. His eyes follow the motion of her hands.

Bella is watching him and neither of them seem to really be paying attention to what Jasper is saying. "I suppose," she murmurs.

Her head slings towards the window so it is hidden from Jasper's view, her heart speeding in excitement. Did she really see what she thinks she just saw? Maybe this will be easier than she anticipated. She closes her eyes, trying to will a core of calm from the depths of flurried doubts and urgency. _Calm down, girl. He just looked at your arms. He's a vampire, for Pete's sake. It'd be weird if he didn't. _

The logic doesn't quite manage to suppress the little chirrup of 'Maybe!' that wants to burst free and take flight. So close, and Jasper's her last hope - her only one, really. Edward's never going to accede to her request, she sees that now. Whatever his misgivings, a need for control, fear for her happiness, love, it's nothing to do with Bella. She's eighteen and knows what she wants. And if it's a mistake, it's hers, not anyone else's.

Jasper seems content enough with the silence but Bella can barely stand it amidst the cacophony of her own thoughts. It doesn't help that she knows Jasper can sense them, even if it isn't his fault she's feeling so loud and he isn't trying to listen in. Her thoughts and feelings are her own and she's always prided herself on her miserliness with them. Inside of her is sacred space. No trespassing, last exit, here be dragons. She doesn't like that somehow Jasper is able to cross where angels fear to tread. It is patently unfair, especially when she can't even begin to guess what goes through his head. At least in this regard with Edward she's on more even playing field.

And that just burns him up crazy. She smiles. Women are supposed to be mysterious, according to Renee. How many times has she seen her mother stand before that full-length mirror back in their Phoenix home, twisting this way and that in one dress after another, when they both know she looks perfectly stunning in them all and would turn heads even in an oversized painter's smock? Bella had loved that mirror.

Found at a flea market, it's fashioned to create the illusion of branches scrawling up the sides - branches and thorns that had looked like teeth to Bella's six-year-old eyes. Like the witch's mirror in Snow White. _Mirror, mirror_. Bella's breath fogging the glass, her eyes locked on her own reflection as she searched it for some hidden meaning, a ripple in the smooth surface.

Her smile fades. She never had to ask it who was the fairest. The real magic of the witch's mirror was that it could see what you _really _looked like, inside. And she already knew.

The Honda's tires roll over gravel and they come to a stop. Jasper opens the door for her and leans against its front, his red eyes hooded as he watches her struggle with the seatbelt.

"Does it feel good," he says, "being with me?"

It's a strange question, precipitate of a line of inquiry that isn't like Jasper to initiate. He's less introspective than Edward and generally keeps their conversations on the light and inconsequential. What Bella did that day, what music does she like, can she _really _stand to eat what is essentially decaying matter. That sort of thing.

"Um," Bella says. "Yes? I wouldn't be out here if it didn't."

"Unless I were persuading you to like it," Jasper says. "Did that ever occur to you? Maybe the choices you think you're making aren't yours at all."

Bella has in fact thought of this, for about thirty seconds, and then as quickly dismissed it. She sees no reason to change her conclusion. Jasper can be aloof and cold, and she's not certain any emotion he's ever displayed towards her besides bloodlust has been authentic; but that's her problem, not his. _He's _not making her do anything. Playing with his food, finding sport in it, is just not his style. No, from the little she's gleaned of his history - he's worse.

"You wouldn't," she says. She shrugs. "I'm not worth it."

An evening breeze brushes Jasper's hair over his eyes, hiding everything but his mouth which curves upwards without humor. "You place a lot of trust in someone who's already proven themselves unworthy of it," he says.

Confused, and bored by what she perceives as a hypothetical, she flaps her hand at him. "Oh, don't start up with that. You want me to think you're scary? Fine, you're scary. Bela Lugosi's got nothing on you. Now can we see the park?"

"If you wish," Jasper says.

Bella climbs out of the car and Jasper follows a step behind, his footsteps soundless. It's probably just her imagination that the night wind seems colder now.


End file.
